Echoes. They can almost hurt.
Saturday, September 12, I got an echo of the dream of writing full-time again. My wife went to an all-day conference at our church. I worked on a variety of projects–formatting old pages on this site and also revising my second novel, To Retreat From Romance. I had a triple-feature of films from my Fall Viewing List playing in the background–first 2010’s The Social Network, followed by 1994’s Hoop Dreams, and then 2006’s Once. I ended the afternoon with season 1 of Hulu’s The Booth at the End. Plus, I was able to (finally) build two lego sets I had received for my birthday in June. My wife got home, we had dinner together and then watched Scott Derrickson’s The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Indeed, the day was wonderful.
At about 3:30, I took a moment to pause and just reflect on it all, even as it was happening. I was halfway through Once at the time, and I was lovin’ that day. I loved the falling leaves. I loved the films. I loved working on my writing projects—-how I love working on my writing projects. It’s been a long, long time since I felt that good about a day.
Our financial and social status being what they are, I feel less and less like these days dedicated to writing will return. I gotta work full time, 9-5, for us to live, probably well into my 70’s. And I don’t think it’ll be telling stories.
But I cannot complain. For a brief time, I got to live my dream. For those who have been tracking with me, you’ll recall that when we first came east, I had 9 months unemployed to write full time and complete Stronghold. Sure, I felt like many people saw me as a bum, but I was really alive during that stint. I hated not being the primary bread winner (which I am now); but I awoke each morning both invigorated and enthusiastic about every minute of the coming day…it’s been a long, long time since I that good about a day.
Frankly, tasting the dream again was bittersweet. It reminded me of the life I might have had, if I had been more dedicated, more talented—-or just “more”. But maybe that’s not my problem; maybe I just don’t want to face the truth. Some days the truth is hard, but that does not change it. The truth is that God is in control, and he is telling a story through my life. I have no idea what that story is anymore. I simply trust that he is telling it well—better than I ever could. So I trust, and I savor the wonderful days that I get. Any gall that accompanies them is worth it for just that small, rapturous feeling again. Maybe it’s the last time I will get to experience it; maybe it was a foretaste of realities on the horizon. Either way, I surrender to God, and I praise him for a good, good day.
Thanks for reading,
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